(DJ FMCT)
Yeah, they told me I can't be around no gang members
Y'all got me fucked up, nigga
I go everywhere with my killers, man
(DJ Bandz, oh, man)
Yeah, let's get it

Throw that mask on, when you jump out first you better blast (yeah)
We don't like slow shit on hits, them switches, fast (frrt, gang)
Ain't gon lie, the city hot with strikers, they don't last (turn up)
When you poppin' with your killers, you better check your gas (man, what?)
We don't party on other blocks, they fuck with other opps (let's get it)
Then come 'round like you gang, that got your brother shot (brrah)
You say his name inside a song, that got your brother hot (let's get it)
Then leave him hangin' without a lawyer, that shit dumb as fuck (pussy)
You come outside without your gun, lil' boy, you dumb as fuck (dumb as fuck)
Ain't no quick run to the store, they pop out, fire you up (brrah)
I told my PO through the gate that I get high as fuck (I get high as fuck)
She ask me how high do I get, I told her high as Duck (Tooka)
My brother told me get some property, I kept gettin' Glockies (gettin' Glocks)
I told him I only drink Wocky, he say I'm gettin' cocky (let's get it)
All them bitches wanna fuck me, I don't give them money
One bitch thought I told her, "Yeah," I said, "You better block me"
He survived one to the head, but it fucked up his body
You think he off a eighth of red the way that nigga noddin'
He don't even know 'bout drugs, he sell lean, Oxycontin
You tryna judge him off his looks, that lil' boy actually robbin'
Man, he talkin' 'bout, "Gang in this bitch" (why he callin', talkin' 'bout gang?)
He ain't get back for that one shit, man his gang ain't on shit (he still ain't get back for the gang)
Fo'nem posted up outside, Dracos hanging and shit (get the Drac' out let it hang)
Before he died, his ass a goofy, now he famous and shit (brr, brr, big brr)

I'm King Draco
Got my name off drillin', check the records, bitch (slatt, slatt, slatt, slatt)
That pussy dropped that song about me, he get found without his dick
Send off a bag 'bout my lil' cousin, they fakin', death caught him quick
They made me mad enough, I spin through there myself, say the wrong shit
Might still sip when I get low, but I prefer Wock over Tris
Fucked up and let me in the door, I went fully on all the sticks
I'm Mr. Slime 'Em Out, I caught his backdoor unlocked on a lick (slatt, slatt)
Or Mr. Leave No Evidence, know my criminal book hella thick (on God)
You niggas goose, ain't got no gun
You in the way, your ass a dummy
I'm on my sixth Moncler this winter, I couldn't wait to get some money
My lil' nigga up four souls, he caught two dressed up like a junkie
They thought I was just rappin'
Lately, murder gang, that shit ain't funny
We like that murder gang, then come through, that shit ain't funny
I'm locked in with hunters, from the God, got killers 'round the country
I might don't even slime 'em out, just be yourself and stay 300
We get money Monday through Saturday, pray to Trey day every Sunday
My cleats tied up in the field, won't never hear me go out runnin'
Post up a pic look like I'm in LA, but the whole time I'm in Montgomery
I ain't tryna keep hearing about that shit you did, go get active again
It's either get ate on my side or fuck the drops and go and spin
Three and O, we skunkin' shit, get one more kill, consider it a win
Beef with us won't never land 'til y'all get hit up with them pins
Can't come around unless you get a body, chopper, F&N
We caught one of them pussies drunk, he died before he dropped the Henny
Got 'bout ten whips in my garage and still don't know what to get in
Take all the emblems out the 'Cat, tint out the window 'fore I spin

Brr, tint out the window 'fore I spin
Brr, brr, brr, brr, brr, brr, brr (brr, brr)

Copyright: Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, TUNECORE INC, TuneCore Inc.
Writer(s): Durk Banks, Maliki Decampos, Mohammed Bayoumi, Nomdo De Heer, Richmond Devonte